


the rise of the interstate and the woozy sound it makes

by GStK



Category: Pocket Monsters: Sword & Shield | Pokemon Sword & Shield Versions
Genre: M/M, Outcomeshipping, Pre-Canon, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-10
Updated: 2019-12-10
Packaged: 2021-02-25 23:14:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21743581
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GStK/pseuds/GStK
Summary: beyond the store, the road gets thinbut doesn't disappear. as far as we know,it goes on forever.
Relationships: Dande | Leon/Kibana | Raihan
Comments: 2
Kudos: 89





	the rise of the interstate and the woozy sound it makes

Chronicle every defeat. Bite every loss, feel it bleed and filter to the back of your throat from your teeth. Smile for the camera -- it's a tradition, after all. Say cheese.

He's got it down pat. It's a selfie, not a photo.

"Rotom, got that?"

" _Zzt!_ Uploaded and processing!"

"You think the speeds near the Rose Tower would be better than this," Raihan says with a disappointed click of his tongue. Leon's approaching, close enough to catch his words and see the bitter tinge on his face through the gleaming stadium lights. The fireworks go off and the crowd goes wild; when Leon's done flinching, Raihan has a proper smile fashioned on his face.

He takes Leon by the hand and the fang. "That was class," Raihan says. Their chests nearly meet when they tug each other closer, their hands the only barrier keeping them apart. Sportsmanship, etiquette… yeah, yeah. Here's what it's really about:

The glint of pride in Leon's eyes that's come from shaving off more of his Pokemon than ever before. The little jump back Leon takes before he pulls off his signature pose, cape swaying in the celebratory winds. The sponsors are a garish thing that threaten to whip Raihan in the face.

The people are cheering for their undefeated Champion, but you know what?

One day, that cape is going to come flying off.

* * *

"So when I beat you, do I have to wear that thing?"

"What? No," Leon answers, looking perplexed. Raihan is sprawled boyishly across the sofa of the challengers' waiting room, and his lap is an open invitation. It goes ignored. "Not unless you want to, I suppose," he continues, tugging on the tassels of his cape--

"Not that," sighs Raihan. He points to Leon's back, which doesn't make things any clearer. "That number. Number one. Does the Champion have to forsake his number once he gets to the top?"

"... Dunno," Leon mumbles, looking over his shoulder to catch a glimpse of his jersey. The idiot could just take off his mantle, but. Raihan drums the inside of his thigh impatiently. "This was always my number. You remember."

Not a question. Yeah, he does. Little Leon, lanky in his hand-me-down clothes from another time, striding up confidently to the counter in Motostoke; the chav had grinned with a face too young to grow his own sideburns and thrown out an awkward pose.

Raihan mimics it now, the strange triple-pronged hand symbol that hadn't quite been perfected. "Lotta folks weren't happy about that."

Leon grins. "I said I was going to show them a champion time. And I did."

"You did."

No man smashes through competition the way Leon had. He'd gone from a little thing to a right, arrogant piece of work. Raihan surveys him now, fiddling with his Pokeballs, fixing his cap and his trainers -- the side no one else gets to see. The little prince who never quite left, even when the man evolved.

Purple hair, a flurry of spikes buried under the choice cap of the week. "I'm hoping we see more challengers this season. It's been rough going."

Raihan laughs. "The only one who ever touches you is me! Bored already?"

Leon shakes his head, but he tugs at his jersey in that way that always says he's lying. "Galar as a whole needs to become stronger. They need someone to champion them forward, but the hero needs a little challenge, too."

Bitter brown eyes that swing away like a pendulum to watch the scrolling results on the upper screen. It wasn't always about Galar this, champion that. (Okay -- the "champion" thing has been there forever.) There was a boy once upon a time who had a Charmander and a dream, who thrashed his way through six of Raihan's Pokemon without blinking, and held his hand out with a laugh after.

The kid's still in there but he's buried by responsibilities and stature. Galar is nothing, but a strong Pokemon trainer? They're everything. They need the attention, they need the pull from other regions. It's a lot to think about.

"Hey," Raihan says, scanning his eyes lower. Leon looks back at him.

"Hm?"

"I've got a little think for you."

Finally, the tension from Leon's shoulders sinks out, and with a pat of the sofa's cushions, he -- comes to stand a little closer. He leans against the wall. Raihan sighs and rolls his eyes.

"What?"

Raihan sticks his tongue out at him. Leon chases the sight for far too long. He doesn't even retaliate.

"Anyhow. My idea," Raihan starts, "You've got that kid brother. He's been yammering on about Pokemon lately, hasn't he?"

"Sure," Leon frowns. "He always does. What about it?"

"You get some Pokemon from Rose. Get your brother out here. Tell him it's time for his own adventure and get him real riled up. The kid's got him in it, right?"

He doesn't say how he's been following Hop's media feed. He doesn't say how he can feel that same anxious energy that had embodied Leon for so long -- does so, even now -- and he can feel it coming from a league away. It's obvious to anyone who looks at him straight,

And yet, Leon still ends up pulling a face.

"He's just a kid, Rai."

"And weren't you like, twelve when you took down the Finals?" Raihan counters. He crosses his legs and throws his arms behind his head. Rotom blitzes around him, ready to offer a look at the latest news if he so pleases. "You want challengers, Leon? You gotta make them. We don't need people from the outside. We need Galarians, born and bred."

"He's got his own Wooloo," Leon murmurs.

Raihan snorts. "A real Pokemon. Like an Onyx."

Leon puffs up. "You've never had that thing roll at you."

"Sorry? The great Champion of Galar's scared of a little Woo? Ta; can't wait to spread _this_ around."

Rotom meets his fingers but the threat is enough. Leon's across the sofa and clutching his wrist with a grip tighter than a Trapinch. Their eyes meet. Raihan grins and Leon stares dead into his eyes.

“What about a Charmander?" he suggests, right to Leon's face.

Bitter brown eyes dart away. The grip on his hand pops off so Leon can duck his face behind the brim of his cap.

"Rai."

"Pose for the big cameras as much as you want," Raihan answers, unflinching when Leon's eyes challenge him again. "It's entertainment. Not inspiration."

After a short-suffering silence, Leon rubs at his chin and sighs. Raihan goes back to slouching; he's not sure when, exactly, he sat up.

"I'll think of something," says Leon.

"Make it fast before you get utter sick of us."

"I'm not sick of us!" Leon snaps. Raihan raises a brow.

"No? But our battles?"

"..."

"Glad to hear it."

Leon gives him this look like he's thrown up a Sandstorm and a Mean Look -- unfair tactics. But Raihan? He's just living for the truth.

"I thought we had a champion time today," Leon says. He's sinking, finally, sitting down next to Raihan. Their knees bump when Leon spreads his legs wide, so Raihan throws his shin over Leon's thigh.

"We did. Single battles still aren't my strong suit," Raihan complains. "But I had you three down. Getting closer. Just got to change things up."

He looks away to check his Rotom, finally. The little sneak of Leon in his selfie from before has people going wild. Of course it would.

"What's the plan?" Leon asks, daft, because he is quite daft. "More Dragons?"

"Something like that."

Both of his legs swing into Leon's lap. Their shoulders are bumping now, too.

"What’ve you got in store for the off-season?" Raihan pries. "'Contests, interviews, working with Dr. Rose --'"

Leon's looking miffed by the way their words overlap. But it's always the same, right? Same off-season. Same stalwart attempts to spread the message of Galar everywhere. Same restless nights where Raihan can look up and see that one room in Rose Tower lit up, knowing long talks are running off.

A rival doesn’t worry about those things. Rivals, they don’t give a second thought to the last time their mate saw Sonia or the last time he slept in his own bed. They don’t give a care for the fact that Piers sounds more brotherly than Leon nowadays, and that’s kind of terrifying.

Rivals do one thing and that’s bare a little fang. Raihan sneaks fingers up beneath the start of Leon’s shorts, leaning in close to perfect his tease. Leon looks chuffed. He’s tense. He gets tenser when Raihan’s grin spreads.

“You and me on holiday.”

“No way,” Leon says, even as he asks in the very next breath: “Where to?”

“Kanto.” The look on Leon’s face says it all. Raihan’s fingers withdraw to shed his headband, play at the brim of Leon’s cap instead. “Right, then. The Wild Area. You and me, training every day. No excuses. No professors. No Rotom Phones.”

Leon cocks a brow. Rotom _zzrt_ s doubtfully behind him.

“A little Rotom Phone.”

“I’ve got things that need doing, Rai,” protests Leon. He shimmies his way out of Raihan’s hands and slides off the couch, his heavy cape trailing after him. “A Champion’s work is never done, and now more than ever, Galar needs its Champion.”

“And I might need a little bee and jay --”

“ _Mate_.”

“-- but we can’t always get what we want.”

“That’s right,” Leon says firmly. “We can’t get what we want. But we do what we need.”

Raihan gives Leon an uncomfortable sizing-up. Leon stays straight as an arrow, refusing to bend under the weight of the sun setting on his shoulders. The Pidoves are flying home. The children are racing back to their mummies and daddies. The infants are counting Wooloos in their nice, warm beds. Challengers are grieving their losses and Gym Leaders are lacing their trainers for their new regiments.

Raihan stands. Rotom floats away. Leon meets him eye-to-eye, even when Raihan gets so close their noses are nearly pressed together. They have this long, hard staredown that says everything words can’t get out.

 _I need you_ , says the blue.

 _Galar needs me_ , says the brown.

 _You’re being a real tit_ , the blue postures.

 _Then give me a better reason_ , the brown invites.

Raihan pulls back and Leon’s shoulders sink again. He riles all up again when Raihan takes a pretty finger and flicks that stupid hat right off of his stupid head.

Leon’s jerking away, shoulders rotating while he tries to snatch the hat out of the air. Raihan grabs his arm and tugs on it. He’s kissing the side of Leon’s face, he’s getting elbowed in the back of the head and tasting a mouthful of sweaty neck. Leon makes this daft noise, because he’s quite daft really, and Raihan’s shoving him up against the wall.

Leon grabs Raihan by the shoulders. Raihan presses a fist right next to his cheek. He smells like a Garbodor. He tastes like salt and bubble-gum, which means he’s been eating that sugary trash again, instead of the apples Raihan keeps chucking at his head.

There’s tongue, there’s lips, there’s harsh breaths while Leon starts to tear at his hoodie. Raihan grabs his fingers and pulls them right out. 

Leon gives him the sordid champion look: ready for anything, prepared to be disappointed.

“Ta,” Raihan says.

“Rai, what--”

“It’s not time yet,” he answers, throwing out two fingers in a salute, separating them. Leon looks a hair’s breadth away from reaching out for him.

“For what?”

For the cape to come off.

“For you to lose your last brain cell. Sonia would have a fit.”

He’s retreating fast and Rotom’s whizzing by his head. Leon’s saying something. Raihan ducks out of the room, pretends he can’t hear it.

“-- _You’re a bad loser._ ”

* * *

One day, that cape is going to come flying off. It won’t be for Galar’s sake.

It’ll be for his.

**Author's Note:**

> Title and summary adapted from works by Carrie Fountain.


End file.
